


sisterly love

by silena



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angelica and Eliza swap lives basically, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, well....just angst basically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-06-10 12:37:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6956725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silena/pseuds/silena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which angelica doesn't turn to see her sister's helplessness and marries alexander hamilton</p><p>the same story told in three different points of view: angelica, eliza, and peggy</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. satisfaction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hogwarts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hogwarts/gifts).



> happy late birthday, mia!! i'm sorry this is nearly a month late. big shoutout to her for being patient [ [faelins](http://archiveofourown.org/users/faelins) | [gryphoned (tumblr)](http://gryphoned.tumblr.com/) ] and shoutout to tehreem for editing [ [olehmpus (tumblr)](http://olehmpus.tumblr.com/) ]
> 
> this will be a three-chapter story, with the same story being told in three different viewpoints—as stated in the description. very much like lin did with the musical, i took some creative liberties with this—especially as it is an au of a musical. it's not _entirely_ accurate to history, but i tried to stick as close to events as possible.

Angelica Schuyler is not the type of person to exaggerate. Or to fall in love at first sight, for that matter. But that doesn’t stop a mister Alexander Hamilton from worming his way into her heart, with Angelica not doing a single thing to stop him.

He is charming and handsome and ambitious and his eyes glitter like they hold the sun. He is brazen and loud and entirely too outspoken for his own good.

And Alexander _likes_ her. Angelica Schuyler—the woman who scares men away with her sharp tongue and quick wit. He _likes_ her and can keep up with her banter.

Angelica likes this feeling.

**( ——— )**

“—and I don’t understand why he thinks that keeping your mouth shut and surviving is any better than fighting for what you believe in and dying!”

Alexander is on another one of his ceaseless tirades again, and Angelica smiles at him. She can’t believe that this man is her fiancée.

“It’s a matter of principle, Alexander,” she muses, “and of how you were raised. He was taught to keep silent unless absolutely necessary, while you learned that it was absolutely necessary _not_ to stay quiet to stay alive.”

He nods his head in silent defeat, letting her words mull over. “You’re right.”

Angelica smiles brightly. “Of course I am. Now, tell me more about the revolution.”

**( ——— )**

The wedding is a quiet affair—almost twenty people in total, including the bride, groom, and the vicar.

Eliza stands nearby, smiling but something else is in her eyes that Angelica can’t quite place. Maybe it’s bittersweetness at losing a sister. Yes, of course. That was it.

“I’m so happy for you, Angie!” Peggy says, her grin lighting up her entire face.

“Maybe you could name your firstborn after me,” Eliza adds, a smile playing at her lips. “Elizabeth Hamilton—I quite like the sound of that.”

Angelica’s eyes soften at the sight of her sisters, the lights of her life. “Maybe I will.”

**( ——— )**

Less than a year later, Alexander leaves her to fight in the war. It is a bittersweet occasion of poignant goodbyes, and Angelica does not want to know what life will make of her should Alexander die in combat.

Eliza and Peggy are extremely supportive of her, to which Angelica must admit is remarkably helpful. Though Angelica is usually not much of a cynic, she _is_ a realist. Angelica _knows_ that people die, especially in battle. She just hopes that Alexander isn’t one of those people.

Thankfully, Alexander has some sort of extraordinary luck about him.

**( ——— )**

Alexander returns to her sooner than expected with a bitter proclamation. Angelica has her own news, though infinitely more cheerful.

“The General told me leave,” he says to her over whiskey. “Forced me to, actually. Can’t say I’m not disappointed. I didn’t think, Angie—I have to go back. God help me, I’ve screwed everything over. It’s my damn pride, I tell you.”

She smiles comfortingly. “Maybe I have something that could lift your spirits.”

“I doubt it.”

“Alexander,” she says. “I’m having a baby. I’m pregnant.”

He looks up at her. “Wha— _Really?_ ”

She nods, something of a smile blossoming on her face. “A girl. I’m thinking of naming her after Eliza. I promised.”

Alexander glances down at the pillow she’d laid on her lap and her baggy dress, both chosen to hide her bump. He stares straight into her eyes, devoid of emotion. “Angelica—the war isn’t over. _I have to go back_.”

When Angelica first met him, she’d thought that he was ambitious, always shooting for the heavens, but now she sees it’s more than that. It’s ardent fervor and extreme passion, zealously lusting for acknowledgement and a bright legacy.

So Angelica says, “Then go. But when you’re back— _and I expect you to return_ —you’d better be ready to help me take care of Elizabeth.”

Alexander smiles, and it is one of the most beautiful things that Angelica has ever seen.

**( ——— )**

Angelica is left alone with nothing but her own wit.

Well, that isn’t quite true. The war is over now, and she has her daughter Angelica and her husband with her. Alexander is a lawyer now—and a successful one, at that.

But she is alone with herself, with no one to _really_ talk to. At least, no one to talk to about her childhood and all of those things that she and her sisters used to speak of.

Peggy is already married, to someone named Stephen Van Rensselaer III. He is kind enough, though Angelica supposes that he is a tad too young for Peggy. Nevertheless, Stephen is a good man of respectable standing and Margarita could do much worse. They live quite a ways away, and, as such, Angelica can only visit them twice a month, at most.

Eliza, however, is the one that Angelica worries about. Eliza had eloped with a suspicious fellow, John Barker Church, who their father had always eyed with distrust, and then later moved to England without so much as a goodbye. Their correspondence started off strong at first, though Eliza’s letters slowly shortened until all Angelica would receive were a couple paragraphs at most after waiting for weeks. It was something completely contrary to Elizabeth’s character and, as such, Angelica worries about her sister.

**( ——— )**

Angelica is pregnant again. Another girl.

Alexander wants to name her Rachel, after his mother, and Angelica quite likes the name. She offers Margaret for the middle name, after Margarita, and he agrees. The baby is due later in the year, around the same time when Peggy tells her that Eliza will be returning.

It hurts to know that Eliza would tell Peggy of an American visit and not her.

**( ——— )**

Rachel Margaret Hamilton is born in September.

Rachel, unlike her older sister Elizabeth Hamilton, is a crier and only stops to eat or sleep. Rachel is loud and boisterous and very much like her father, while Elizabeth is finesse and elegance in a human being.

Then, the news that Elizabeth will be returning this later that day drops.

Not Elizabeth Hamilton, Angelica’s daughter. It’s Elizabeth Schuyler Church, Angelica’s _sister_.

Peggy is beside herself with excitement, almost bursting at the seams with her infectious glee. Angelica? Not quite so much.

It is not that Angelica does not love her sister. In fact, it’s the exact opposite. It’s that her sister, for some strange reason, does not love _her_. Or, at the very least, cares so little for Angelica so as to distance herself. And Angelica doesn’t know what to say to someone who she loves so much and does not love her back.

Eliza walks out of the carriage, opening her azure parasol to shield herself from the autumn sun. Europe has treated Eliza well. Her chestnut curls have grown longer and become darker, while her cerulean eyes, though always quite beautiful, seem as if they hold the universe inside of them. Her skin is slightly tanned, as though she’d spent many days strolling in gardens. In essence, Eliza looks like the epitome of femininity and loveliness.

“Eliza!” Peggy calls, a bright smile adorning her  lovely, youthful face.

Suddenly, the portrait that is Elizabeth Schuyler Church becomes human and a similar grin blossoms on her rouge painted lips. “Peggy!”

The younger of the two eagerly runs up to Eliza, enveloping her in a hug. “I’ve missed you so much, Liza! You’ve got to tell me everything about France and London—all of the details that you left out in your letters.”

Eliza laughs at her sister’s good-natured excitement, though Peggy is in her thirties at this point. “Of course I will, Peggy. Who do you think I am?”

Peggy giggles and settles down, while Eliza looks at Angelica. The smile on her face stays as bright as ever, though the love in her eyes is much less obvious.

“Angelica,” Eliza says, addressing her sister. “How are you? How have you been?”

“Doing well,” Angelica replies. She looks down at little Rachel in her arms. “I have another daughter—Rachel Margaret. After Alexander’s mother and Peggy.”

“And of my little Elizabeth?”

“She’s almost three years old now,” Angelica answers. “Always polite and very graceful. Quite like you, if I may add. Yours? Philip, right?”

Eliza smiles. “He’s amazing. Nearing four years—already speaking fluent French and playing piano.”

“Talented, like you,” she says, the tone of her voice much softer than it was before. But that moment is gone almost as quickly as it appeared as Angelica gestures toward the double doors of her home. “Shall we?”

They go inside of the house and, almost immediately, Rachel starts her wailing.

“ _Shh_ , darling,” Angelica murmurs.

Eliza holds her arms out. “May I?”

“Of course.”

As soon as Rachel is comfortably fitted in Eliza’s arms, the baby miraculously stops crying and instead peeks up at Eliza with bright brown eyes. Rachel gurgles and grins, toothless.

“Well hello there, little Rachel,” Eliza says softly.

Even Angelica, as Rachel’s mother, has never been able to do that, and for the very first time, Angelica is met with a stab of resentment for her sister.

**( ——— )**

“You’ve got to tell us more about Thomas Jefferson!” Peggy exclaims. “Is he honestly as terrible as Alexander says he is?”

Eliza laughs, rocking Rachel in her arms. “Honestly? He’s not half as bad as Alexander claims.”

“Really?”

“Quite so. He’s actually very intelligent and humorous, if I might,” Eliza says. “Now, if you want to talk to someone with gossip on Alexander, the Marquis de Lafayette would be someone to go to.”

Angelica couldn’t focus on her sister’s words; instead, she thought of quelling the slow-boiling anger in her heart.

**( ——— )**

There is a small dinner party held two days later at the Washingtons’ New York home in Eliza’s honor. Angelica arrives with Alexander right on time, though there is an unfamiliar carriage parked nearby. Something in the back of her mind wonders who it could possibly belong to, but she pushes that thought out of her head completely. Tonight, she’d have fun.

Washington opens the door, a bright smile on his face. “Alexander, you’re here! And you as well, Angelica! How are you both?”

Inside, Angelica can see Martha Washington speaking to someone, the anonymous party turned around. Even from behind this woman is already breathtaking, her dress a twinkling azure and her dark hair a contrast to pale skin. Instantly, Angelica is slightly envious of this woman. She’s always had a tough time speaking to Martha, who she disagreed with frequently. But this girl—the Washingtons’ guest—gets along with the matron easily.

“Angelica!” Martha says, spotting her. Angelica feels underdressed under Martha’s gaze. “You’re here.”

At the mention of _Angelica_ , the other girl turns around. Eliza. “Angelica—you’ve arrived,” she says, not unkindly.

But Angelica herself has a difficult time keeping ice out of her voice. “I wouldn’t miss your homecoming dinner, Eliza.”

“Where’s Alexander?” Martha asks, oblivious to the way the sisters are staring at each other.

“In the foyer,” Angelica replies, not bothering to look at Martha when she speaks. It doesn’t matter that Angelica is being rude, at least, _not to her_.

When Martha leaves to greet Alexander, Angelica can’t help the words that fall out of her mouth. “ _Who the hell_ are _you_?”

Confusion flashes over Eliza’s face. “What?”

“It’s like—” Angelica pauses, fumbling for the right words. “It’s like I don’t even know you anymore, Eliza! Like I haven’t known you since five years ago, when I married Alexander. Is that it? That you don’t like Alexander?”

“I—”

“ _Please_ ,” Angelica begs. “Just tell me. I want my sister back. Not—not this _facsimile_ of her you’ve become. You are _nothing_ like the girl I grew up with.”

At that, a fiery anger lights in Eliza’s eyes like a burning conflagration set to devour everything in its path.  “How. Dare. You.”

Angelica realizes her mistake. “El—”

“Just because I’ve changed, just because I no longer let anyone walk over me, does _not_ mean that I am no longer Eliza,” she says, venom coating her bladed words. “You speak as if my being _Elizabeth Church, the woman who can befriend the untouchable_ instead of remaining _Elizabeth Schuyler, Angelica’s sister_ is a bad thing. I am my own person now, Angelica. Whether you like it or not. I am no longer _just_ your little sister. I’ve written my _own_ narrative and I’m writing my _own_ story. And do you know what?”

Angelica stays silent.

“ _I’m still Eliza_.”

**( ——— )**

She and Eliza don’t speak after that. Peggy tells her when Eliza has left for London. Rachel still cries.

Angelica mulls Eliza’s words over and over in her head. _Had Eliza really thought that Angelica saw her only as a minor character in a story?_

But she doesn’t show her discomfort on her face, even though it is slowly killing her. She deserves to suffer, to feel like this, if it was how she’d made her sister feel for so long. She needs to be shouted at, to be called as she was. She needs _closure_.

**( ——— )**

Angelica is _done_ having children, she decides, after having another: John Philip Hamilton.

It’s not that she doesn’t like her children—heavens, no—but rather that she’s getting a bit older now and…the woman that she’d thought would have helped her, who _said_ that she would help Angelica as a teenager, was no longer willing to even look at her. Peggy offers to help, but Angelica knows that her sister is getting older too—no matter if Angelica would always see her as the little girl in pigtails who asked for candies.

As for Alexander…he was always busy with work. Sometimes, Angelica wonders if she ever even has a husband anymore, but she always scolds herself afterwards.

**( ——— )**

Four years have passed after Angelica saw Eliza last, and she’s still hoping for some type of conversation to happen between them. Peggy tells her that Eliza hasn’t visited America since the last time, at least not to her own knowledge.

“You should write her,” Peggy had advised.

“This isn’t the type of conversation that should happen over correspondence,” Angelica had replied, though she had known—even then—that it was just fear of rejection keeping her at bay.

Peggy, in reply, had looked slightly disappointed. “You never know, Angie. She’s still the same forgiving, kind Eliza, only now she’s had time to become more than that. Seasons change, Angelica, but people don’t.”

Angelica didn’t know when her sister had become so wise.

But, Angelica dearly regrets not writing when she sees Eliza again, a child with her this time, at George Washington’s presidential inauguration, speaking to Martha Washington.

Eliza turns and sees her. Then, almost as if Angelica didn’t exist at all, shifts her gaze _through_ Angelica. She supposes that her sister is entitled to this anger, but that doesn’t mean that it was harmless.

“And who is this charming girl?” Angelica hears Martha ask.

“This is Angélique Marguerita Church,” Eliza replies. “My daughter.”

The name of the girl makes Angelica feel like she can’t breathe. Angélique can’t be any more than three years old…Named _after_ the fight…

“ _Fellow Citizens of the State_ …”

**( ——— )**

“ _What?_ ”

When Angelica had heard the rumors, she’d dismissed them as nothing but senseless gossip, but _this_ —this can’t be ignored.

She scans the paper again, her eyes reading the same words over and over. He couldn’t have… He wouldn’t have…

But he did.

_The intercourse with Mrs. Reynolds, in the mean time, continued; and, though various reflections, (in which a further knowledge of Reynolds’ character and the suspicion of some concert between the husband and wife bore a part) induced me to wish a cessation of it; yet her conduct made it extremely difficult to disentangle myself._

Angelica hurls the paper against the wall, refusing to let herself cry.

The tears fall anyway.

**( ——— )**

Of all the people to visit her, Angelica hadn’t expected her, no matter their relation.

“I’ll kill him,” were Eliza’s first words to Angelica in more than five years. It is an odd phrase in lieu of greeting, yet Angelica receives them more tenderly than any hello.

It is a weird thing to see someone, who Angelica remembers as mild and quiet, ranting with such fervent ardor and fury in her eyes, but Angelica loves her sister all the more for it.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. Eliza stops her pacing, and Angelica knows that her sister understands. Of course she would. Eliza had always been the one among them with the ability to dulcify.

 _Thank you, for being here, for forgiving me when I unknowingly left you behind and when I didn’t apologize, for staying here,_ for being my sister _._

“It’s of no consequence,” Eliza comments nonchalantly, waving it off as if crossing the Atlantic is no big thing. It is.

But the love that Angelica had forgotten is there in Eliza’s eyes, and everything is okay in that moment.

Eliza continues, “But I will.”

“Will what?”

“Make him regret everything.”

**( ——— )**

Peggy, Angelica, and Eliza.

The Schuyler sisters, back together at last.

All three Schuyler sisters are present at the hearing in which the almost two-decade marriage between Angelica Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton is dissolved, with Aaron Burr as the lawyer for the now-former Mrs. Hamilton.

And when the Schuyler sisters leave the courthouse, Angelica feels strangely at peace.

**( ——— )**

Angelica never knew her sisters to be so protective of her, as it was usually the other way around, but she finds out exactly _how_ protective when Alexander comes to the Van Rensselaer Manor House, where the Eliza for her period in America and Angelica is living for the time being.

“ _Let me see her!_ ”

“Get lost, you insufferable bastard of a prick.” Peggy.

“ _She is my wife!_ ”

“She stopped being your wife the moment that you decided to fuck someone else.” Surprisingly, Eliza. Angelica had never known Eliza to be one for cursing.

“ _You have to hear me out! I—_ ”

Eliza, most likely tired of Alexander’s ceaseless begging, swings the mansion doors open, glaring at him. “We don’t _have_ to do _anything_ , Alexander. I have no connection to you except as a former brother-in-law and a former friend.”

“Get your ass off my lawn, you outdated government passé, before I call the goddamn police,” Peggy says, dismissing him. Peggy had never been one for empty threats, only promises, and Alexander knows this, choosing to dejectedly march back to wherever he came from.

Angelica has never loved her sisters more than in this moment, and she will never love them any less.

**( ——— )**

Peggy is… dying. No one can do anything to stop it.

The doctors say that death for Peggy is inevitable, but Angelica refuses to accept it. Not Peggy. Not bright, high-spirited Peggy who could brave anything and live. Not her.

Both Eliza and Angelica tell Peggy to stop speaking, to save her breath, _live a while longer_. But, of course, headstrong Peggy does not listen. Instead, she speaks. Of everything.

Of their life as children maturing into women. Of her marriage. Of her children.

“Don’t forget me,” Peggy says at three in the afternoon. “I’d hate to only be the echo of a song.”

Those are the last words that Margarita Schuyler Van Rensselaer ever speaks.

**( ——— )**

Losing a sister is gut-wrenching misery that burrows deep inside her heart. Losing a daughter is unfathomable.

And yet it happens anyway, with the wild and unpredictable Elizabeth Hamilton deciding to duel George Eacker after he’d commented something despicable about Angelica.

“ _Mom_ ,” Elizabeth’s voice cracks and her teeth are stained scarlet with blood. Alexander is already there, cradling her head. “I am _so, so sorry_.”

“It’s not your fault, Lizzie,” Angelica says, pushing down Elizabeth’s untamable hair. “You had no way of knowing that Eacker was no honorable person. You—you’ve made me proud, Lizzie.”

“Mom—”

“And you will continue to make me proud, do you hear me?” Angelica continues. Maybe if she ignores the rapidly fading heartbeat of her daughter, the wounds will go away and her daughter will survive. “You will live through this, and you’ll do so many wonderful things. All of the things I could have never hoped to—”

“Mom!”

Angelica looks down at her daughter in her lap. “You’ll _live_ , Lizzie. You have to.”

“No, Mom,” Elizabeth says with a sad smile. “I won’t. Now, you take good care of Aunt Eliza, okay? Can’t have my namesake doing stupid things like I do. And you, Dad, take good care of Mom _and_ yourself. None of that over-working yourself. You have to be there to make sure Mom doesn’t either, when Aunt Eliza goes back to—”

Elizabeth hacks a cough, blood spraying everywhere.

“ _Please_ , Lizzie,” Alexander says, “stop speaking. Let the doctors—”

“Dad, I’ve read a medical book. It would take everything short of a miracle for me to survive.”

Angelica starts, “Lizzie—”

But Elizabeth’s eyes turn to glass as she says, “I love you,” to the clouds above.

**( ——— )**

“Do you think it ever stops hurting?” Angelica asks her sister one day. She doesn’t have to elaborate for Eliza to understand what she means.

It takes a moment for Eliza to answer, but when she does, it’s a simple, “No.”

Angelica continues to stare outside the window to the rolling green hills of her new home—a house in Albany that Alexander bought for her.

Eliza goes on. “I think that it will never stop hurting, no matter what you do, but that you can learn to be happy again, like they’d want us to.” _They_ as in Peggy and Lizzie. “And one day, you’ll wake up, and you won’t be _quite_ as sad anymore.”

Angelica supposes that _quite as sad_ is better than the grief that is drowning her.

**( ——— )**

Angelica is fifty-eight.

She goes to sleep.

She does not wake up.

 


	2. helplessness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part two of _the crying fic_. pls dont kill me when you're done
> 
> UNEDITED (lmao i said i was gonna read through it to make sure there werent any stupid mistakes but guess who _didn't_ do that)

To put it simply, Elizabeth Schuyler is a hopeless romantic, through and through. She loves completely, with every fiber of her being and without holding back, never being one to hold back. She feels emotions to the extremes.

That said, when she sees  _ him _ , she is almost instantly in love with him.

And then she sees his eyes, and she  _ knows _ she is in love with him.

And then she sees her sister with him, and she knows that he is gone. After all, who would take quiet, plain Elizabeth Schuyler when her attractive, charismatic older sister was around?

The next time that she sees him is the very next morning when he walks down the stairs by Angelica’s side, hair tousled. She finds out his name is Alexander.

**( ——— )**

“Eliza!”

She turns, and Alexander is standing there.

“Yes?”

“I was just wondering—Well, I was just wondering if you’d like to eat lunch.  _ Together _ ,” Alexander says, fumbling over his words. It’s not a sight Eliza’s used to seeing, especially from someone so eloquent as Alexander Hamilton. “I’m technically not supposed to see Angelica for the week. Something about a family tradition, so…”

Eliza doesn’t know what to think. A hum of agreement falls out of her lips before she can stop it, but the smile that blossoms on Alexander’s face makes everything okay, if just in that moment.

“Lead the way, Mr. Hamilton.”

“After you, Ms. Schuyler.”

**( ——— )**

Angelica and Alexander are bursting with infectious joy, Peggy bouncing around laughter. Everyone is so happy. Except for Eliza.

She hates it.

She  _ wants _ to be happy for her sister, she really does, except…she  _ can’t _ . Maybe it has something to do with the fact that she is in love with her sister’s husband-to-be. Maybe.

“And you’ll be my maid of honor, won’t you, Eliza?” Angelica asks, though  _ not really _ . Angelica has never been the type to  _ ask Eliza what she wants _ . No one does. Except for maybe Peggy.

But Eliza nods her consent. “Of course,” she says, and Angelica smiles.

**( ——— )**

The wedding is quiet for characters as large as Alexander Hamilton and his soon-to-be wife Angelica. And, Eliza, as promised, is the maid of honor.

It’s just before Angelica will walk out, ready to change her life forever.

Peggy’s face is radiant with joy and with love. “I’m so happy for you, Angie!”

Eliza tries her best to put a smile on her face, hoping it doesn’t look as fake as it truly is. “Maybe you could name your firstborn after me. Elizabeth Hamilton—I quite like the sound of that.”

What she  _ doesn’t _ say is that Eliza herself would like to be associated with Alexander, and not by familial relations.

But Angelica looks at her with so much love that Eliza couldn’t  _ possibly _ do anything to ruin her sister’s day.

**( ——— )**

“Any words of advice for your brother-in-law, Betsey?” Alexander asks, adjusting his clothes before he leaves to fight. Their familial title is a stark reminder of what Angelica has that Eliza never can.

She gives him a lopsided smirk in reply. “ _ Stay alive. _ ”

**( ——— )**

John Barker Church arrives in America with the intention of helping the Revolution.

Eliza cannot deny him a space in her heart, not with his charming smile and care towards her family and herself. He is not quite as eloquent nor do his eyes shine the way Alexander’s do. He is not burning with fervent passion, but he speaks his mind. He does not smile wryly and make stupid jokes. He is not  _ Alexander _ .

But Eliza loves him all the same, in his own, very different way. He is her second great love, and she is fine with that. Most don’t even get one.

Their marriage is small and quiet, with only the officiating priest, John, and herself, but Eliza supposes that she likes it all the more this way.

**( ——— )**

“John?”

He looks at her, and Eliza can’t help the smile that blooms on her face when she sees the absolute love and devotion in them. “Yes?”

Then, she remembers why she needs this conversation to happen. “I—Well, I should think you’d like to sit down before I begin.”

John’s gaze becomes that of confusion and questioning, but she gestures to the seat anyway. “What is it, my dear?”

“John, I—” She can’t say the words, and she hates herself for that. What if he hates her? What if he doesn’t want—

“Out with it then,” he says, not unkindly.

“ _ I’m pregnant _ .”

A silence falls over the room, and Eliza cannot decide whether it’s a good one or not. Then, a large grin spreads over her husband’s face as he stands to hug her.

“Then I will have one more thing to love in my life, and I will cherish it as I cherish you.”

**( ——— )**

The moment that Eliza knows that her baby will be a boy, she runs to the Schuyler family mansion. Peggy, aside from John, is the first person she tells.

“Do you know what you’ll name him?” Peggy asks excitedly.

“John and I are thinking of  _ Philip _ , after Father,” she replies, sipping at her tea.

Peggy squeals. “Oh! I’m so excited, ‘Liza. Have you told Angelica?”

And just like that, the atmosphere shifts. Eliza responds with a murmured, “no,” but thankfully, Peggy doesn’t seem to notice how fraught with tension the scenario becomes.

“Well, it’s a good thing that she’ll be arriving—well,  quite soon! She’s due to eat luncheon with us,” her sister says good-naturedly.

“Would you tell her for me, Peggy? I’ve just remembered a former commitment that I cannot miss, and I must leave immediately.”

**( ——— )**

Two years after Philip Church is born, Angelica rushes into her room, breathless and heaving. “Eliza, you have to help me.”

_ No choice. You  _ have _ to help. _

“What is it?” Eliza asks, concerned. What could have happened…?

“ _ I’m pregnant. _ ”

_ That _ could have happened.

“Really?” she asks, a little hurt though she has no right to be.

Angelica nods. “Yeah. I found out two days ago. I wanted to tell you sooner, but you’re always surrounded by people.”

“Does Peggy know?”

“Not yet,” Angelica says, almost guilty. “I wanted to tell you first.”

Eliza bites her tongue, stopping herself from saying,  _ Would you still feel that way if I told you that I’m in love with your husband? _

Instead, she smiles. “And what of names?”

Angelica grins. “I quite like the sound of Elizabeth Hamilton.”

**( ——— )**

Her mind is spinning with envy and spite, though Eliza has no reason to feel this way. For God’s sake, Alexander is  _ married _ . To her  _ sister _ . She should be happy for them—ecstatic, even. But she can’t even bring herself to smile.

In another universe, in a different life,  _ Eliza _ is the one married to Alexander and she is content with the life that she’s made. She is happy and her family is supportive and there is no such thing as Angelica Hamilton, with a different Schuyler sister in her place.

Maybe she is selfish for fantasizing as such— _ no, she is  _ definitely _ selfish _ —but the knowledge that there may be a dimension in which  _ she _ had been the one to marry Alexander is enough for her.

**( ——— )**

Elizabeth Catharine Hamilton is born in January 1782, the year that Philip is due to turn two.

Though loathing bubbles in Eliza’s stomach, she cannot bring herself to hate this small child. The child that Angelica named after her.

She does not deserve Angelica’s kindness. She does not deserve to be little Lizzie’s namesake. She will taint the child with her horrid thoughts and blackened heart.

But that does not stop Eliza from spending every second she can with this child. The child that could have been hers in a lifetime gone by.

**( ——— )**

When the war is over, John says that he wants will be the US envoy to the French government, if only for a short while. Eliza has no complaint. She doesn’t know if she can bear seeing Alexander every day and know that he will  _ never _ be hers.

Peggy had been the only one she’d told about her secret marriage and the plans to move to France, asking her sister to tell everyone once she had left.

Her younger sister had been adamant in refusing Eliza’s departure. “You can’t leave! Stephen and I are engaged. Aren’t you going to stay for the wedding? And forever after that?”

Eliza had told Peggy that she would stay for the ceremony. She would be leaving the day after.

**( ——— )**

Eliza has heard so much of Paris, though nothing she’s ever read or been told could ever compare to the dazzling sights of France.

John has so many places to go, so many famous people to meet, and he always asks her if she’d like to go with him. She rarely refuses.

As Eliza Schuyler, she would have never had the opportunity to meet people along the likes of Benjamin Franklin. But as Elizabeth Church, she maintains a correspondence with Thomas Jefferson and has a monthly luncheon with a group that includes the Marquis de Lafayette.

She likes this Elizabeth Church.

**( ——— )**

_ My dearest Eliza, _

_ I write you in the hope that you will reply promptly and with earnest candor. Many a great thing has happened here in the Hamilton home. Though you and your son have inevitably done extraordinary things of your selves, I should think it safe to say that you have not forgotten your niece, my Lizzie. _

_ At her youthful age of one year, she has finally began to walk by her self. I remember your own child, Philip, and he commenced his own tread near to this age. I hope that my Lizzie will be as advanced as your own child. _

_ Is he not three summers? Pardon me, my beloved sister, but I have seemed to forgotten. I shall promptly send a package enclosing several largesses for him, as I know that his birth day is nearing. _

_ How is your child? Margarita informed me that you were teaching him how to manipulate a pianoforte. You used to tell me these sorts of things, Elizabeth, yet now I fear we are drifting apart with this ocean between us. Do not spare me of details when you write back. _

 

_ Yours In My Written Word, _

_ Angelica Hamilton. _

 

Eliza never deigned to respond. If she never wrote, there would not be details to skip.

**( ——— )**

A year after Eliza stops writing to Angelica, John is needed in New York for a short period of time.

“Beth?” John asks over breakfast one day. “Would you like to come with me? Or would it suit you better to remain here in France with Philip?”

Eliza smiles. If not for anything else, she loves John for the fact that he gives her a  _ choice _ . All her life, she is forced to act a certain way, but with John? Never.

Setting her porcelain teacup down, she says, “I will gladly follow you to the ends of the earth and wherever else you may roam. Besides, I ought to believe that Philip should see his birthplace again before he becomes too accustomed to these European ways.”

**( ——— )**

The Churches arrive at New York Harbor in September of 1785.

They take a few days to settle in before John decides that he’d like to show Philip where he grew up, to take him there for a few days. It is entirely all right with her, as Eliza supposes that she wants to visit her family for awhile anyway.

Somehow, from all the way in Pennsylvania, Benjamin Franklin had arranged for a carriage to take her to the Hamiltons’ home when she had mentioned it to him the week before through correspondence. She makes a mental note to thank him profusely when she can.

Eliza dresses herself that day, forcing herself to refrain from donning the opulent clothes that she wore in Europe. Instead, she focuses on being as minimalistic and simple as she can with her dress: a blue dress with a matching parasol.

The ride to the house is less than twenty minutes by carriage, though it feels much shorter. It’s as if time no longer adheres to its usual rules when her emotions are fraught.

Her sisters are outside, waiting, though Peggy is much nearer to where Eliza will step out of the carriage. Angelica, on the other hand, is under the shade cast by the house, holding a baby.

When the carriage stops, Eliza steps down carefully, opening the parasol to protect herself from the bright mid-morning sun.

Peggy is right there, her beautiful face radiant with the smile that graces her red lips. She is older than Eliza remembers, but that’s what time does to someone.

“Eliza!” her sister calls.

“Peggy,” Eliza breathes. It feels amazing to be able to hug her sister again.

“I’ve missed you so much, Liza! You’ve got to tell me everything about France and London—all of the details that you left out in your letters.”

Laughing softly at Peggy’s infectious mirth, Eliza says, “Of course I will, Peggy. Who do you think I am?”

Eliza’s eyes find Angelica’s, and she is suddenly reminded of everything that has happened between the two of them.

Somehow, Eliza finds her voice first. “Angelica. How are you? How have you been?”

“Doing well,” Angelica replies, though her tone is tense. Looking down at the baby in her arms, she continues, “I have another daughter—Rachel Margaret. After Alexander’s mother and Peggy.”

Eliza prays that her discomfort and contempt don’t show on her face. “And of my little Elizabeth?”

A smile grows on Angelica’s face, small but radiant. “She’s almost three years old now. Always polite and very graceful. Quite like you, if I may add. Yours? Philip, right?”

A slow, burning anger washes over Eliza. How could her own sister not know the name of her nephew? Did she not care enough to remember?

But she leashes it tightly and says, “He’s amazing. Nearly four years—already speaking fluent French and playing piano.”

An under-exaggeration of her son, but Angelica doesn’t know. Not that she’d care.

“Talented, like you,” Angelica replies. There’s something different to the quality of Angelica’s voice, but Eliza can’t quite place  _ what _ . Then, she moves her hand in a flourish towards the white double doors of her home. “Shall we?”

As soon as the three of them walk inside, Angelica’s baby starts to cry. Eliza can hear her sister trying to calm her child, to no avail.

“Rachel,” she tries, “Rachel,  _ please _ …Shh, darling.”

Angelica is holding her baby in the wrong way to let Rachel truly rest in her arms, not that Eliza would ever tell her sister that.

Instead, she holds her arms out and says, “May I?”

Angelica is quick to reply. “Of course.”

Eliza takes Rachel from her sister, adjusting the baby in her arms. It doesn’t take long for Rachel to stop crying.

**( ——— )**

The Washingtons offer to host a welcoming dinner at their home, an invitation that Eliza does not hesitate to accept. She is quite excited to see Martha once more, seeing her as a wise matriarch and a friend.

When she dresses, Eliza puts on a fine dress—not as opulent as the ones she would wear in court at France but luxurious enough to fit the occasion. Naturally, in her excited state, Eliza arrives a bit early, though not early enough to be seen as too eager.

Martha is the one to greet her when she appears, pulling her into a hug. “Eliza, dear! You’ve arrived. We didn’t get to speak much when I invited you for this dinner, but I do hope we’ll be able to catch up.”

She hears George’s voice carry through their home. “Did you say ‘Eliza,’ love?”

“Yes, George, she’s here.”

At that, the man himself walks out. He smiles at her warmly and hugs her, and she returns it happily. She sees him as almost a second-father.

“Finally,” he says. “Elizabeth Schuyler, back her homeland.”

Martha slaps him lightly. “She’s not a Schuyler anymore, dear. She’s a  _ Church _ , remember?”

George laughs. “How could I have forgotten? John can hardly stop speaking about you when we meet. He’s clearly enamored with you, dear.”

“I should hope so,” Eliza responds good-naturedly. “After all, we’re married.”

“That reminds me!” Martha exclaims. “Philip! How is your son, Eliza?”

Eliza smiles. “He’s reading and writing in French now, though he finds conversational French a tad difficult.”

A knock sounds at the door and George moves to open it, though she and Martha are held by their own conversation.

“Ah, you can’t fault the boy,” Martha says. “I could barely  _ understand _ it. He’s a genius! And of his musical prowess? Last you informed me, he could play piano  _ and _ violin.”

“Philip and a pianoforte create magic,” Eliza says truthfully, “though the violin provides some struggle for him.”

Martha looks towards her husband and suddenly says, “Angelica! You’re here.”

Eliza nods, acknowledging her sister’s presence. She keeps her distance, using the tactics she normally would when meeting dignitaries for the first time. “Angelica—you’ve arrived."

“I wouldn’t miss your homecoming dinner, Eliza,” her sister bites out, as if she were trying—and failing—to keep venom out of her words.

Maybe she had found out about Alexander.  _ Oh God, no…  _

“Where’s Alexander?” Martha asks. Eliza’s throat closes at the sound of his name, but Mrs. Washington clearly cannot sense the tension between the Schuylers.

“In the foyer,” Angelica replies. She doesn’t even look at Martha, who keeps the shock of insult off her face but can’t hide it in her eyes.

Once Martha is gone, Angelica hisses, “ _ Who the hell  _ are _ you? _ ”

“What?” Eliza asks out of shock and lack of better wording.

Angelica fixes her with a hard glare that Eliza had never received from her sister.  _ Seen _ , but never received. “It’s like—It’s like I don’t even know you anymore, Eliza! Like I haven’t known you since five years ago, when I married Alexander. Is that it? That you don’t like Alexander?”

Eliza bites her lip to keep a sigh of relief from slipping through.  _ If only you knew, Angelica. _ But relief doesn’t stop Eliza from growing angry, from letting fury and loathing and disdain wash over her in waves. Waves that push and pull further from shore, gathering into a hurricane of contempt.

_ Leash your emotions, Eliza. _

She tries to speak, but Angelica interrupts her before she can even begin.

“ _ Please _ ,” Angelica begs, “just tell me. I want my sister back. Not—not this  _ facsimile _ of her you’ve become. You are  _ nothing _ like the girl I grew up with.”

At that, Eliza lets the reign on herself go. Decorum and niceties could be damned, for all cares.

Angelica makes it sound like it’s a  _ bad _ thing that she is no longer twelve-year-old Eliza. Like it’s a bad thing that she has a say in her own life. Like it’s a bad thing that she makes choices for herself. Like it’s a bad thing that she’s grown into herself and made her own path instead of trying to emulate Angelica’s.

“ _ How dare you _ ,” Eliza spits bitterly.

Angelica takes a step back. “El—”

But she does not let her sister do any more damage than she has already done.

“Just because I’ve changed, just because I no longer let anyone walk over me, does not mean that I am no longer  _ Eliza _ ,” she bites out. Eliza thinks of her friends in France and how they trust and respect her. “You speak as if my being Elizabeth Church, the woman who can befriend the untouchable, instead of remaining Elizabeth Schuyler, Angelica’s sister, is a bad thing. I am my own person now, Angelica. Whether you like it or not. I am no longer just your little sister. I’ve written my own narrative, and I’m writing my own story. And do you know what?”

Angelica does not deign to reply.

“ _ I’m still Eliza. _ ”

**( ——— )**

The rest of the dinner is spent in tense silence between the two sisters, Peggy arriving at the Washingtons’ soon after Eliza had stormed away from Angelica. Luckily, no one else seems to pick up on the discord between the two eldest Schuylers.

Peggy, catching Eliza’s eye over the dinner table, silently asks what happens. Eliza discreetly mouths, “ _ Later. _ ”

Angelica, on the other hand, tries her hardest to get Eliza’s line of vision to land on her to no success. Eliza has had enough. She considers herself a patient person, but she is no saint. She will not change herself, not when she is  _ finally happy _ . Not even for her sister.

**( ——— )**

Eliza spends the rest of her time in America with either Peggy or her family. She avoids Angelica when she can and promptly leaves a room when she cannot.

She does not tell Angelica when she leaves for France again.

**( ——— )**

Angelica does not write to her.

Eliza, who refuses to be the one to apologize when innocent, does not either.

The sisters do not speak.

**( ——— )**

Peggy is the only one Eliza tells when the Churches move from Paris to London.

**( ——— )**

After thirty-two hours of labor, Eliza delivers her second child. John had been ecstatic when he’d found out and even more so when she’d told him it was a girl.

“Do you have a name?” the midwife asks.

John looks at Eliza, and she nods. She is too tired to speak at the moment, but he knows the name that they have agreed on.

“ Angélique Marguerita Church.”

**( ——— )**

Ever the patriotic American at heart, Eliza returns to the United States for the inauguration its first president. She’s just thankful it’s George instead of some blundering fool like Charles Lee.

Philip, now at school, stays behind in London with his father.  Angélique, on the other hand, comes to America with her.

It’s surprisingly easy for Eliza to find Martha in the crowd gathered in front of the stage.

“Eliza!” Martha exclaims. “It’s been too long, dear. Nearly five years, has it not?”

“It must be so,” Eliza replies. “In any case, I’ve missed you.”

“And it is the same with me,” Martha says. Looking at the girl in Eliza’s arms, Martha asks, “And who is this charming girl?”

“Angélique Marguerita Church—my daughter.”

Then, a silent hush falls over the crowd as George Washington begins to speak.

**( ——— )**

News, especially news of the unfavorable variety, travels fast, and so does an angry Elizabeth Church. She could put any antagonism between Angelica and herself aside, if only for a short while.

She travels by herself, fueled by anger and the need to just  _ hit _ something. Her family had been disappointed when she’d announced such sudden departure, but John had immediately understood once he’d found out. He hadn’t expected it of Alexander. Neither had she.

Eliza knows the road to Alexander’s law office by heart, though she hasn’t been there in years. She pounds on the door angrily, half expecting him not to even open.

His hair is matted, curling at the end and sticking to his forehead with sweat. There is a rancid smell from somewhere in the office. Or maybe it’s Alexander himself. His clothes are rumpled, and his shirt is buttoned the wrong way.

His eyes light up at the sight of her. “Eliza…”

Before she can lose her nerve, she slaps him. Hard. It feels  _ oh so satisfying _ when she hears the sound of skin meeting skin, and it feels even better when she sees him clutching his cheek, a red handprint glaring bright.

“I deserved that,” Alexander mumbles.

“You look like shit,” Eliza remarks, never one to curse.

“I deserved that too.”

“You must think you’re some sort of god, don’t you, Alexander?” she says, words scathing. “Like you’re untouchable? A mythological figure, perhaps?”

She pauses, as if it’s a question that he could answer. He doesn’t.

“I daresay you’re an Icarus, flying on your wax wings. You’ve been scorched, Alexander, and you are  _ falling to the ground _ . I will not catch you, not this time. I have always been here, supporting you. Angelica has always supported you.”

He flinches at the sound of her sister’s name.

“Oh, yes, did you forget, Alexander?” Eliza spits. “ _ You have a wife. _ Were you thinking of her when you slept with someone else? Or did that fact conveniently slip from your mind?”

Alexander stays silent, which is somehow worse than his listening to any of his excuses.

But Eliza isn’t finished. “That would be  _ enough _ from you. I don’t want to hear from you again.”

**( ——— )**

Angelica opens her door, thinly veiled shock on her face at the sight of Eliza.

Before her sister can say anything, she says, “ _ I’ll kill him _ .” She means it.

Angelica opens the door wider, letting Eliza in, but stays silent. Eliza paces back and forth in Angelica’s foyer, surely wearing down spots in the ornate rug.

“ _ Thank you _ ,” Angelica murmurs and Eliza stops, looking at her sister.

Her sister’s eyes are sad, but the upturn of her lips tell a different story. In this moment, Angelica is a living contradiction—an oxymoron wrapped up in a beautiful, melancholy smile.

Eliza knows everything her sister is trying to say, even with years of animosity between them, and she knows that, no matter what, they’ll always be Schuylers.

“It’s of no consequence,” she says offhandedly. It may sound like she’s simply brushing it off, but  _ she’s not _ . There are layers of unsaid but understood conversations between them.

“But I will,” Eliza says suddenly.

“Will what?”

“Make him regret everything.”

**( ——— )**

When Angelica decides that she wants to divorce Alexander, there is no dissent among the other two Schuyler sisters. Luckily, Eliza’s friendship with Aaron Burr is strong enough so that she can call in a favor.

After everything has been said and done, Angelica has gained custody of Elizabeth and Rachel and $5,000.

**( ——— )**

The knock comes midmorning, when the sun is nearing its peak and lunch is being made.

It’s Alexander, dressed in a suit with his hair combed and smelling of some odd cologne. Upon seeing her, he sighs in relief. “Eliza, I know we’re not on speaking—”

She moves to slam the door in his face, but he promptly moves his foot in the way.

“Eliza,  _ please _ —”

Suddenly, Peggy walks out. “Who the hell is that?”

She has never been more thankful to see Margarita Schuyler van Rensselaer in her life.

Peggy, seeing who it is, glares daggers of ice. “Why are you here, Hamilton?”

“I need to speak to An—”

“ _ No _ ,” Peggy says, drawing herself to her full height, looking every bit the wife of an esteemed and wealthy man. “The only thing that needs to be done here is the removal of your lying ass on my property.”

“ _ Let me see her! _ ” he shouts.

“Get lost, you insufferable bastard of a prick,” Peggy spits.

“She is my wife!”

Eliza glares at him. “She  _ was _ your wife. My sister is a Schuyler, first and foremost, but her time as a Hamilton was cut long before that. She stopped being your wife the moment you decided to fuck someone else.”

“ _ You have to hear me out! I— _ ”

She opens the door fully, ready to hurl every fiber of her neverending hate against him, and says, “We don’t  _ have _ to do  _ anything _ , Alexander. I have no connection to you except as a former brother-in-law and a former friend.”

**( ——— )**

“Do you remember, when we were but little girls in the prime of our childhood, how we would read each other stories from father’s library?”

“ _ Peggy, please _ —”

“And we would hide in the attic and pretend we were the mistresses of our own homes.”

“ _ Peggy, save your breath _ —”

“And here we are now, mature beyond our years. We’ve survived a war, dear sisters, and yet I am losing the war with life.”

“ _ Just— _ ”

“Don’t forget me,” Peggy says softly. “I’d hate to only be the echo of a song.”

**( ——— )**

Margarita Schuyler van Rensselaer’s funeral is astoundingly lavish. But Eliza knows more than anyone that it’s to cover the pain.

Stephen is distraught, barely able to form coherent sentences. He is not crying, but on the inside, Eliza knows what he feels.

There is not a cloud in the sky to give them respite from the rays of the sun, who mocks them by shining so brightly and being so beautiful on such an ugly day. Eliza wants to scream at it, to tell the sun to stop being happy.

It is her turn to walk up to Peggy’s body and say her goodbyes. Death does not suit Margarita, nor do the coldness and the blue tint of skin that accompany it. In the back of her mind, she can still hear Peggy’s voice—clear and jubilant. She will never hear that voice again.

“See you on the other side of this war, dear sister,” Eliza murmurs.

She could have sworn that she’d heard Peggy reply, “Take your time in arriving.”

**( ——— )**

Eliza is with Angelica when Elizabeth dies. If the gut-emptying despair is anything to compare to Angelica’s pain, all she can really do is  _ be there _ for her sister.

“Do you think it ever stops hurting?” Angelica murmurs, staring into her murky tea.

Eliza looks at her sister for a moment,  _ really _ looks at her. She notices wrinkles that weren’t there before and a certain sadness to her eyes. There is a slump to her shoulders, though her posture is otherwise rigid. Angelica is  _ cracking _ , and Eliza must do everything she can to stop that from happening.

Angelica does not need sweetened lies from Eliza, she needs the  _ truth _ , so Eliza says, “No.”

Her sister moves her melancholy gaze to shift outside, to watch the grass sway in the wind. Alexander had bought this house for Angelica, after the Reynolds situation. He’d been entirely adamant that, if she was not going to live in their old house, Angelica should at least have one of her own.

“I think,” Eliza continues, carefully as if she were treading on broken glass, “that it will never stop hurting, no matter what you do—but that you can learn to be happy again, like they’d want us to. And one day, you’ll wake up, and you won’t be  _ quite _ as sad anymore.”

**( ——— )**

The Churches move to America.

**( ——— )**

Eliza is the only one of the Schuyler sisters to go to Alexander’s funeral.

“I hope you know, Alexander,” she says to his pale, colorless face, “that I loved you. Once upon a time,  _ I loved you _ . And I had prayed that you loved me too.” She looks at the shape of his face, one she will never forget as long as she will live. “Maybe you did. Maybe you loved me, but it wasn’t in the way I  _ wanted _ you to love me. Or, perhaps, you loved me in that way, but you married Angelica nonetheless.”

Alexander is silent, just as the dead should be, but silence is odd from such a talkative character.

“Angelica and I—” Eliza draws a shaky breath. “We fought, for a considerable amount of time, though I have no idea if you ever knew. We’re on much more amiable terms now, of course, but I will forever regret those years spent hating my sister.  _ Because of you. _ ”

There is nothing to the curve of Alexander’s lips that tell Eliza that he will respond. He shouldn’t. He is dead.

“My sister is happier without you, Alexander. I thought you should know. But I will always spend forever wondering  _ what if _ .”

Alexander is dead. There is no  _ what if _ , only what happened.

All Eliza can do is put one foot in front of the other and keep walking.

**( ——— )**

“Angelica!  _ Angelica,  _ please _ , wake up! _ ”

Naturally, her sister does not follow anyone’s orders but her own.

Angelica Schuyler is fifty-eight when she dies.

**( ——— )**

Philip, her sweet son, names a city after her: Elizabeth, New York. It’s styled after the home of his fondest memories—Paris. It’s the land that John had received as recompense for helping the revolution. He marries a sweet girl, Anna Matilda Stewart, and they build a house they call “Belvidere.”

Eliza, on the other hand, dedicates the rest of her life to working for others and her family. After spending so long being selfish towards her sister, the very least she can do to atone for her sins is to help others.

She joins the Society for the Relief of Poor Widows with Small Children. It’s a small organization with an exact name. The following year, she establishes the Orphan Asylum Society with her friend Joanna Bethune and is appointed second directress.

Maybe she can repay her debts to the universe, no matter if she  _ is _ a little late.

**( ——— )**

“This is a wonderful idea, Dolley,” she tells Mrs. Madison.

The Washington Monument…George would have thought it too lavish, but he deserves it. For all that he’d done, he deserves  _ this _ as a lasting structure to remind future generations of the first president of the United States.

Eliza is there when the cornerstone is pronounced sound. Dolley is too. But all she could think of was the fact that Angelica and Peggy would have loved to see this.

**( ——— )**

She holds Philip’s hand in her right,  Angélique on her left. Rachel, her niece, sits at the foot of her bed.

“Mom…” Philip’s voice cracks, and Eliza comes to the realization that she hasn’t seen her son cry since John died. John... _ her beloved husband _ ...who had passed four years after Angelica.

“Shh,” she tells Philip, smoothing out his hair. “I’ll be fine.”

“But  _ Maman _ ,” Angélique says, “you’re  _ dying _ .”

“Everyone dies,  _ mon cochon _ , it’s a matter of when.”

Rachel, all throughout her life, has always been boisterously loud, but she is eerily silent today. “Mom would have loved to see everything you’ve done, Aunt Eliza.”

She smiles. “I’ll tell her you said hi.”

Rachel nods, her hair falling in her face, concealing tears. “That would be nice.”

“Stay kind, my dears,” Eliza says. She can feel the life draining out of her, like waves pulling back from the shore. “Stay kind and forgive, even when it becomes difficult. That will be enough.”

Eliza closes her eyes, and she feels at peace for the first time in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun facts!!  
> elizabeth catharine hamilton — the middle name of ham & angelica's daughter (catharine) is also the first name of peggy/angelica/eliza's mom  
> $5,000 — as part of the deal during the divorce, alexander gives angelica $5,000. in today's money, $5,000 is equivalent to $94,339.62  
> "helplessness" is nearly twice as long as "satisfaction" (the first chapter)  
> i nearly cried writing this

**Author's Note:**

> fuk ur sky high™ standards, m. pls dont write a revenge fic like i did for _state of suspension_ my gay heart cant handle it


End file.
